


Old History Between Us

by teShara



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-05-07
Packaged: 2018-01-21 18:00:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1559150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teShara/pseuds/teShara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When one of the students gets it in his head to try something never-before attempted, the results are disastrous. Thankfully, a ghost and a book come to the rescue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Old History Between Us

**Author's Note:**

> from the prompt: [# 28](http://hp-darkarts.livejournal.com/67791.html?thread=892367#t892367) submitted by kellychambliss.
> 
>  
> 
> Betaed by the amazing Mab, who put up with my scatterbrained craziness.

-=-

_“I’ve never seen anything like it.”_

_“What was he doing?”_

_“What could have done it?”_

_“Are we in danger?”_

The whispers and murmurs filled the hallway, echoing off the ancient walls of the castle as heavy footfalls grew louder.

Headmistress McGonagall pushed her way through the thick crowd of students, followed by Professors Longbottom and Flitwick, and the school matron, Poppy Pomfrey. They all had looks of worry on their faces, tempered with irritation at the students that hindered their progress.

“Out of the way! _Get out of the way!”_ Professor Longbottom barked out and the students complied, scurrying to either side of the hallway and pressing their backs to the stone walls.

McGonagall gasped, coming up short and her hands fluttering to the black lace collar of her emerald green robes. Flitwick banged into her, forcing her forward, and the form on the floor was revealed to the faculty members.

Curled into a ball, the third year had his eyes shut tight, bloody tears coursing down his cheeks. His teeth were clenched in a feral snarl; his skin had taken on a sickly green hue, and he was shiny with perspiration.

“Everyone’s had a good look! Back to your classes and common rooms!” Flitwick ordered the students sternly, and they complied with only a few grumbles and protests. “You too, Weasley.”

“But I’m Head Girl,” Lucy Weasley protested. “I should be able to help in some way.”

“She’s right,” Flitwick said before any of the faculty protested. He looked at her seriously. “Find out everything you can about what happened. His family, his friends, the places he goes, and the sort of things he does… anything that might have been out of the ordinary in the past few days.”

Her chest puffed out and she saluted with her wand before turning on her heel.

Professor Longbottom shook his head. “Just like her father.”

“If Lucy was anything like Percy I wouldn’t have made her head girl,” McGonagall snorted. 

“Well, we got lucky,” Flitwick said hurriedly, as if he wanted the subject closed. “Now, what do we do about this?” He gestured at the boy on the floor. “Does it look like _anything_ you’ve seen before?”

“Call Dennis Creevy,” Longbottom said firmly. “He might know what his son’s been up to.”

“The younger Mr Creevy needs to be in the infirmary,” Pomfrey said, folding her arms. “No matter what’s wrong with him, as long as he’s still breathing, he’s mine.”

“He’ll be moved when we know it’s safe,” McGonagall said firmly. “I want to call in a team of Aurors. This could be an attack.”

Silence fell over the adults in the hallway.

“This many years after the war?” Flitwick said worriedly.

“You never know. Someone could have picked up a book of spells with notes in it. Thought they’d try out something and it all went wrong. Harry did the same thing once,” Professor Longbottom pointed out.

“I’m well aware of that, Neville,” McGonagall said with a sigh. “But that was still a simple spell. This… this is more. I can feel the magic coming off him, can’t you?”

The remaining adults pointed their wands at the student and began to prod gently.

“It’s spell damage,” Flitwick said.

“What is that smell?” Longbottom asked, his nose wrinkling.

“Cooked flesh,” Pomfrey said seriously. “But I can’t see any burns on him.”

“Could it be coming from inside?” Flitwick hazarded.

“I think it is,” she admitted. “But I don’t know what would do that.”

McGonagall raised her wand and her patronus whisked itself away. “Let’s hope someone does.”

-=-

Dennis Creevy sat with his head in his hands, a pile of books in front of him on a low table, and paperwork scattered around his parlour, as if he had torn the place apart looking for clues. “I have no idea what he was thinking.” His voice cracked.

“He didn’t know the dangers.” A dark-haired witch from the Ministry’s Department of Mysteries patted him on the shoulder, but even she looked bleak. “Becoming an animorphmagus is a difficult thing, at best.”

“But, a _dragon?”_ Creevy looked up at the witch with red-rimmed eyes. “It’s madness!”

“It’s something a thirteen year old boy would think is the greatest thing in the world.” She allowed herself a small smile.

Creevy let out a small snort. “No doubt… is he safe to see?”

“We have him at Hogwarts,” the witch explained. “They have more magical protections than the Ministry or St Mungo’s does.”

He got to his feet and took a deep breath. “Better go see him then. I’ll try not to upset him.”

“That would be for the best.” The witch nodded as she went over to a hearth in the corner of the room. She threw in a handful of brown powder and green flames licked at the cold stone. _“Headmistress McGonagall’s office!”_

Dennis walked through first, followed by the witch.

McGonagall was at her desk and looked up at the sudden intrusion, but her face quickly softened. “Oh, Dennis—”

“You know, when my brother first got his letter we were all excited.” Creevy shook his head as his voice cracked. “Magic in the family! Who would have thought? Mum and dad were so proud—”

“Don’t you dare start talking like that, Mr Creevy,” McGonagall said sternly, and he automatically straightened up. “Your brother was a hero, and your son wanted to be legendary. They’re both noble achievements.”

The man sighed, his shoulders going limp. “Just wish I wasn’t the only sane one. It’s a hard thing, picking up the pieces.”

McGonagall let out a sympathetic puff of air. “Well, young Timothy isn’t dead yet, and Madam Pomfrey is taking his injury like a personal insult.”

“I bet she is,” he chuckled. “I know he’s in good hands, at least.”

McGonagall nodded in sympathy. “Bickers, can you go ahead of us to the infirmary?”

The witch from the Department of Mysteries gave Creevy a pained look as she left the Headmistress’ office.

“Do you have any idea where he got the idea?” McGonagall asked Creevy, a little too sternly. A tea service pulled itself up to them and two chairs floated over, catching the man from behind and forcing him to sit.

“Not a clue,” Creevy said, bewildered. “Some ghost story that’s circulating the school?”

McGonagall shook her head. “If it was, I’d have heard about it from the ghosts.”

“Sort of wish I’d thought of it first,” he admitted as he dressed his cup of tea.

“At least you would have waited until your seventh year and done research as well as being supervised.” McGonagall sighed as she poured herself a cup, strong and black.

Creevy nodded as he waited for her to pass the teapot to him. “There is that.”

“Have a biscuit, Dennis. They’re chocolate mint,” McGonagall suggested.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, his shoulders sagging as he reached for the plate of sweets. “It’s a good sign though, isn’t it? He’s not getting any worse as far as anyone can tell.”

“Just because he isn’t sustaining more injuries doesn’t mean he is out of the woods, as it were.” McGonagall peered at him over the tops of her spectacles. “His injuries were very serious and I’m not going to lie when I tell you that Madam Pomfrey has been working around the clock with all the students studying Healing to keep him stable.”

“I truly appreciate it,” he said as he bit into his biscuit and McGonagall poured tea into his cup for him. “I’m sorry to have been so much trouble.”

McGonagall’s face softened and she closed her eyes for a moment. “In the grand scheme of things, this is barely a blip on the list of _‘Trouble at Hogwarts,’_ Dennis.”

He snorted. “I suppose it is.”

“Drink up,” McGonagall ordered him. “Get some courage up before you go in to see him. Do you need something stronger?”

“I don’t believe you’ll let me guzzle a bottle of spiced rum like a snobby pirate?” Creevy asked suggestively.

“I can spare a finger or two,” she assured him. “You’re going to get through this, Dennis.”

“I know that,” he said dismally. “But will Timothy?”

-=-

Ravenclaw’s Grey Lady hovered above the bed where Timothy Creevy lay, her eyes sad, and her hands kept drifting towards him as if she wanted to touch him, but kept remembering that she couldn’t.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Pomfrey asked the ghost.

The ghost looked hesitant. “No. Nothing like this. It’s remarkable.”

“But you do know something?” Pomfrey prodded gently.

The Grey Lady glanced at her. “We’ve known each other a long time, Poppy.”

“Since my first day at Hogwarts,” Pomfrey quirked her head to one side.

“You must tell no one where you got the book from.”

Pomfrey frowned. “What book?”

“After I ran off, mother had my rooms bricked up. It was a different time. There were no classifications of spells. The term _‘Blood Magic’_ didn’t exist for centuries. Healing was primitive, at best.”

“Your rooms have been untouched for all this time?” Pomfrey gasped.

“Well, _I_ still use them,” the Grey Lady said crossly. “Forgive me if I don’t want an archeological expedition in my bedroom. All of my books are still there. I enchanted them against damage.”

“Well, the spells would be long gone by now.” Pomfrey frowned.

“I was having a problem with pulling off the charm,” the Grey Lady said impatiently. “So I kept casting until I got it right.”

“How many layers of charms are on those books?” Pomfrey asked.

“Let’s just say there’s a cloud of dust hovering around them. It still can’t settle properly.” The Grey Lady winced.

“Do you think the answer to healing Timothy is in them?” Pomfrey asked excitedly.

“It may not be able to repair the permanent changes to his system, but it will heal him. He may always be a hybrid. I can’t promise anything.”

“A hybrid?” Pomfrey looked startled. “You mean it _worked?_ He changed into a _dragon?!”_

“Well, just a little one,” the Grey Lady admitted. “Then he decided to get cocky and breathe fire before he knew how to alter his internal organs along with his outside appearance.”

“So he _is_ cooked from the inside out.” Pomfrey shook her head. “The things they get up to…”

“We can’t undo it,” the Grey Lady said firmly. “But we can help.”

-=-

Timothy Creevy sat up in the infirmary bed, sipping a milkshake. He was still sedated, so he kept nodding his head, but his father was all smiles and tears, and kept touching the small, almost transparent scales that covered his son’s arms in amazement.

“How did you do it?” McGonagall asked Pomfrey. The pair of them were leaning against a door frame some distance away.

“Forbidden Section,” Pomfrey said, shrugging.

“Forget I asked,” McGonagall said, closing her eyes.

“Already done.” Pomfrey smiled.

It wasn’t entirely an untruth, if one thought about it long enough, which Pomfrey had done at great lengths the night before.

The Department of Mysteries would be another matter, but there was no need to involve the Headmistress if she didn’t have to.

“No more fire-breathing!” Dennis waved his finger at his son. “At least until they study you more and figure out how to do it safely.”

“Yes, dad,” Timothy said sheepishly. “The people from the Department of Mysteries are nice.”

“Well, that’s good to hear,” Dennis snorted. “You’ll be seeing a lot of them.”

“So will you, from what I hear,” McGonagall said to Pomfrey.

“They want to know more about my methods,” Pomfrey sighed. “Can’t really blame them, but it’s nothing I’m going to worry about. The book appeared when I needed it, so I used it. Stranger things have happened in the library than an obscure book popping up.”

McGonagall nodded. “I think we’ll have to alter the Transfiguration courses to cover mishaps like this. It’s an excellent learning opportunity.”

“I’m going to have to agree with you.” Pomfrey shook her head as Dennis Creevy kissed his son on the forehead.

-=-

“So, you want me to replicate the treatment?” Pomfrey’s eyes furrowed. “I can do that, but there’s no patient.”

“Just start brewing,” the witch from the Department of Mysteries said assuredly. “We’ll have a patient for you by the end of the day.”

“How much?”

“How much can you do in a batch?” Bickers cocked her head at the school nurse.

“A liter or so,” Pomfrey said, startled by the question.

“And if you have more than one cauldron?”

“I… I suppose as many as ten pints? I would need assistants for more.” 

The witch nodded. “You’ll have them.”

“Some of the ingredients—”

“We’ll provide whatever you need.”

Pomfrey took in a breath and let it out. “Well, I guess we’d better get started.

-=-

St Mungo’s was quiet in the early morning. Not many people were up to magical mischief first thing in the morning. Most of all, there were no visitors.

Pomfrey and a stout wizard with a dark, bushy mustache, and a horseshoe of hair running around his head, walked down a corridor. They were pushing a cart loaded with vials, and a small group of witches and wizards from the Ministry of Magic were close behind.

“I’m not sure what we’re doing is ethical,” Pomfrey complained, although she didn’t dawdle in her task.

“Sometimes risks have to be taken,” the wizard grunted as they rounded a corner. “They’re not going to get better. They’re suffering. Maybe nothing will happen.”

“But if it does work, what does it mean? What do we tell them?”

“We tell them the truth in bits and pieces to get them adjusted. Then we treat them gently.”

Pomfrey rolled her eyes. “Please tell me you have a way to tranquilise them.”

“Of course we do. What do you think _they’re_ for?” He jerked his head to gesture over his shoulder.

She looked over her shoulder, surprised. “I thought they were here to observe.”

“They’re here to supervise.” The wizard reluctantly shrugged. “Same thing.”

“It certainly is _not_ the same thing!” Pomfrey hissed. “They’re Enforcers, aren’t they?”

“We’re not monsters, you know. It’s not like you don’t know all of us.” An annoyed voice came from behind them.

She glanced behind her and looked at the small cluster of magic-users. They were of an age to have been schooled at Hogwarts during her employment, but she didn’t recognise them. “You must have not spent much time in the Infirmary.”

There was an audible snort from a black-haired witch with neat curls spiralling in her hair. “Broken arm first year from a misstep on a staircase. Sprained ankle two weeks later from a Hippogriff incident. Infected tentacula bite third year—“

“Sophie James!” Pomfrey blurted out as she looked at the young woman. The last time she had seen the girl she was much heavier and a tad shorter. She also had straight blond hair. “Well, how am I supposed to recognise you under all that hair?”

There was laughter and the Enforcer’s cheeks turned pink, revealing a faded scar that ran along one cheek, a remnant from a fifth year Quidditch mishap.

“We’re still on a mission,” a stocky, short wizard in a black military beret barked.

“Oh, come on, Colin. It’s not like we’re sneaking up on anyone. We’re supposed to be here.” A voice sighed as they approached the doors to the Janus Thickey Ward.

“Well, set up your positions around the first patient,” the wizard in the beret said testily. “We’re here now.”

“Which one first?” the wizard asked her.

“That one.” She pointed at a bed where a handsome wizard with thick curly white hair lay sleeping. 

One of the witches tittered. A glare from the wizard in the beret silenced her, and she pulled her wand out and got into position.

“As far as damage goes, this one is rather simple. A memory charm backfired from a broken wand. We know how it was done and got the chance to examine the broken wand. Most cases of permanent spell damage don’t have that much information, but the incident happened at Hogwarts, and in front of witnesses, so it is a unique case,” Pomfrey explained. “Let’s begin.”

They began anointing the sedated wizard’s head with the oils and pastes from the cart. When that was done, the spell casting began.

It was tricky and detailed with chanting and an almost impossible amount of wand work, but in the end, there was a soft red glow and the wizard’s features became peaceful.

“Is this what happened last time?” the Ministry wizard asked her.

Pomfrey nodded. “When he came around, he was tired, but feeling well.”

“How long did that take?” He scrunched up his face.

“Almost six hours,” she informed him unapologetically. “They need rest after something like that. I don’t know what would happen if you woke them prematurely.”

He looked dissatisfied with her answer, but nodded anyway.

“Shall we do another?”

-=-

There was a flutter of wings and Poppy Pomfrey opened her eyes to see that her owl perch was full and the last had decided her bedpost was good enough.

She blinked and pushed herself up, stretching her back as she yawned. “What’s all this?”

She took the scroll from the owl on her bedpost and unrolled it as she scratched him behind his ear tufts and he cooed at her.

As she read the page, she took in a deep breath and sighed as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. It was from St Mungo’s, confirming that all of the patients she had experimented on had woken in the morning, undamaged. She expected that the other owls were from the Ministry, the Department of Mysteries, and other assorted people that thought they were important.

Lockhart was simple enough. The patients with deformities had gone through some pain from the counter-transformation, but were doing well enough now. An elderly witch that took a mis-made Dreamless Sleep potion awoke and had immediately demanded an owl so she could make sure her solicitor hadn’t ‘given away the farm.’

Pomfrey had wanted to heal the Longbottoms, but should she? It had been so long, they had missed so much. Even if their damage was healed, the spells wouldn’t counteract the ravages of aging in a mental ward… would it?

She would mention it to the Department of Mysteries, but she wasn’t sure she wanted them thinking about using the spells to reverse the aging process so soon into her experiments. It would come eventually, she was sure of that, but she didn’t want to encourage it prematurely. It would be easy to become sidetracked.

“It’s all going well?”

Pomfrey turned at the wavering voice and smiled at the hovering image of the Grey Lady.

“It is! The experiments were a success!”

“Of course they were,” the Grey Lady said as if the idea of failure was amusing. “That was a very powerful book.”

“Where did it come from?” Pomfrey asked as she went to the next owl, who was gripping a thick envelope in its beak.

“It was a gift from a suitor. They used to come from miles around back then, just to get a glimpse of me.” She looked sad. 

“Why wouldn’t they?” Pomfrey asked absentmindedly. “You were heir to Hogwarts. I’m surprised you didn’t have them whisking in on flying carpets and air-baskets.”

“Oh, I did.” The ghost cheered at the memory. “My father chased off all of the foreigners, of course, but they still came.” She tilted her chin up defiantly and Pomfrey saw the proud girl she once was.

“So, who was he?” Pomfrey asked casually.

The ghost snapped her head around to look at the school nurse. “What makes you think there was someone?”

“Do you think you’re the first teenager I’ve ever known?” Pomfrey snorted. “There’s always _someone.”_

The Grey Lady shook her head, as if the memory was inconsequential. “I don’t remember his name. He died suddenly, a heart problem no one had knowledge of.”

“I’m very sorry,” Pomfrey said.

“He would have died of something, eventually,” the ghost said hollowly, as she faded out of sight.

-=-

“Did you hear Gilderoy Lockhart’s coming out with a new book?” Professor Solomon remarked over breakfast one morning.

“What on earth could it be about?” McGonagall asked as she speared a bit of sausage on her fork.

“No idea.” Solomon shrugged. “But he’s sure to try to come back, won’t he?”

“Don’t you worry,” Flitwick assured her. “He’s not getting your job.”

“I’m not worried about my position.” She snorted. “I was in his sixth year class. I’m not cleaning up the messes he makes this time around.”

“I assure you there will be no ‘this time around,’ Professor Solomon,” McGonagall said regally. “Not while I’m in charge of things.”

“Really, Poppy, did you have to go testing on him?” Professor Longbottom snorted as he violently buttered a piece of toast. “The man’s a menace to society.”

“You sound more like Severus every day,” Pomfrey said sweetly, knowing it got under his skin. “And he was one of the lowest risks. You know that.”

“All I know is the ingredients you need for this next batch are a pain in my arse,” he said grouchily. He threw his toast on his plate and got to his feet. “I really have to go check on things.” He walked away quickly.

“What was that about?” Professor Solomon asked. She was a one of the newer members of Hogwarts faculty and didn’t know the Longbottom family history.

“Stress,” Pomfrey said automatically. No one needed to know what decisions Neville had to make. “It’s getting to us all.”

-=-

“How are the patients responding?” The Ministry wizard that had accompanied Madam Pomfrey to the Janus Thickey Ward at St Mungo’s was furrowing his bushy eyebrows at her.

“Very well,” Pomfrey said, somewhat smugly. “We’re ready to start the next round of tests.”

“Good.” The Ministry official’s eyes moved to the witch from the Department of Mysteries, who was standing near Pomfrey in the meeting room of the Ministry. “I take it, all is in order on your end, Bickers?”

“Couldn’t be better.” She smiled excitedly. “We’re going to try partial healing next instead of snapping people back to health. It was quite a shock for some.”

“I’ll say.” The Ministry official snorted. “We’ve been getting owls day and night from Gilderoy Lockhart demanding to be reinstated with his titles because he never had a proper trial.”

“Did you tell him what would happen if he lost his case?” Pomfrey asked curiously.

“We’re still deciding what charges to press against him. We aren’t the only country to have problems with Mr Lockhart. He may be extradited.”

“To where?” Bickers looked dismayed.

“Nearly everywhere.” The man shook his head. “Australia, Austria, Belgium, Bulgaria…”

“You memorized the list alphabetically?” The witch crossed her arms. “Really?”

“It was the way the list came.” The man looked flustered. “It’s nothing personal.”

She snorted. “Don’t think I haven’t seen you lot groaning about his new book tour.”

“He’s not going anywhere,” the man said firmly. “Not until we figure out everything he’s done.” Then, his exasperation showing: “They’re serious crimes, Merrill. We aren’t slamming him away for being a bit of eye-candy for the ladies, really.”

She looked skeptical, and raised an eyebrow at him, but Madam Pomfrey’s time was limited and she hadn’t the time to listen to Ministry gossip, and she told them as much.

“Do you have subjects picked out for your next cycle of experiments?” the Ministry official asked.

“We do,” Pomfrey told him. 

“Very well, then. Carry on.”

-=-

“So far all of the experiments have been a success,” Pomfrey told the Grey Lady. “I just don't understand why this type of healing was forgotten.” She was settled into her favorite chair in her quarters at Hogwarts in front of a cheery fire.

“It was a rare book to begin with,” the Grey Lady said, as she hovered nearby.

“It's been translated,” Pomfrey remarked. “Do you remember the original language?”

“Latin or Greek, I would guess. It's been a very long time.”

“Of course it has, my dear,” Pomfrey reassured her. “Just curious.”

Green flames leaped up in her hearth and a face poked through. It was the bushy-mustached wizard from the Ministry.

“We need you,” he said in an urgent voice. “Now. No time to spare.”

Pomfrey’s eyebrows went up as she reknotted her bathrobe and walked into the fire, giving a small wave to the Grey Lady as she went.

She was ushered through the cramped drawing room that she appeared in, down a hallway, through a door, and into a large black car outside.

“What's going on?” she asked the Ministry official, her voice high.

“Do you know of any other students trying to do dragon-magic?” he asked her seriously.

“No!” Pomfrey's hands fluttered to her throat. “Not after what happened to Creevy. None of them would be so stupid!” She hesitated. “Did someone else attempt it?”

“No.” the wizard said firmly as the car veered around a corner and they slid around in their seats. “But it looks like it.”

“I don't understand.” Pomfrey frowned as they pulled up to a Muggle hospital.

The wizard hopped out of the car and hurried towards the building and Pomfrey thought it in her best interest to do the same. He flashed a badge at the appropriate people and no one got in their way as they made their way through the corridors. 

Finally, they got to a set of double doors with a lot of noise coming from the other side. There were shouts and the sounds of metal instruments being used and discarded with haste.

“What's going on?” Pomfrey asked, her voice becoming hysterical.

“A Muggle with the same symptoms of Creevy. Cooked from the inside out.”

“A _Muggle?”_ she repeated, disbelievingly. _“How?”_

“That's what we were hoping you might know,” he said grimly. He pushed open the doors and the sight that greeted them was a cacophony of the marvels of modern medicine. Doctors and nurses trying to repair the damage to the young man before it was too late, but the smells emanating from the man weren’t very positive. “We think that Creevy’s natural magic helped stabilise the damage—“

“But this can’t be the same thing,” Pomfrey insisted, wondering why the medical professionals were ignoring them. “This boy didn’t try to turn himself into a dragon.”

“What if someone tried to turn him into a dragon?” the Ministry wizard asked her.

She looked at him sharply, hoping he was kidding, but the look on his face was dead serious.

_“How?”_

“That’s what we’d like to know.”

-=-

“All of the things we cured in St Mungo’s have cropped up in the Muggle population of London in the last week. How could that have happened?” Pomfrey asked worriedly.

“Transference?” The Grey Lady guessed. “You didn’t cure the diseases. You just moved them to new hosts.”

“Muggle hosts,” Pomfrey corrected and the Grey Lady nodded, her eyes beginning to glow with a soft white light. “But how?” Pomfrey’s face turned white as she studied the Grey Lady. “Where did you get that book?”

“I told you, from a suitor.” The Grey Lady wrung her hands. “I never had the chance to properly research it. I only used it once…” her voice trailed off as if she were remembering something. The Grey Lady’s face suddenly contorted with rage. _“WALDO!”_

She vanished with a blink of white light that unsettled Pomfrey so much, she rose to her feet and searched for her boots.

A crack of thunder split the sky and rain began to pour, even though it had been a clear night moments before. Pomfrey looked out her window and saw an angry white glow from the top of the Astronomy Tower, the Bloody Baron’s favorite haunting spot.

The school nurse stumbled as she tried to slip her feet into her rubber boots and run for the door at the same time. She caught herself on a coat rack, and managed to grab a thick navy blue shawl as she righted herself. She bolted down the corridors of Hogwarts until she came to the door she was looking for, but there was already a small crowd gathering around it. 

The large double doors had been flung open and the view to the Astronomy Tower was clear, even through the rain. Massive grey clouds swirled above the tower, thunder and lightning spewing forth, as if a gate to hell was opening.

“What is that?” Lucy Weasley asked, her mouth hanging open.

“Something you’re only likely to see once,” Pomfrey said grimly. “It’s a wizard’s duel fought by ghosts.”

“They can do that?” A raven-haired boy gasped.

“It was just legend until now, but now I can safely say: yes. They can do that.” Pomfrey pushed her way through the crowd of students, counting on Weasley to keep order, and out into the torrential downpour. 

The rain was more than just cold, it was a stinging, biting cold, and it took a few moments for Pomfrey to realise she wasn’t getting wet. The water was an illusion, a memory brought back to the here and now. She moved faster through the thick grass and towards the tower.

A thunderclap hit the air so loudly, that bits of the tower crumbled and started to fall, but the structure was old and was held up with layers of spells. A little damage wouldn’t topple it, but the noise startled Pomfrey so badly that her heart jumped in her chest.

“It was the book!” An unearthly roar came from the top of the tower as another roll of thunder shook the earth. “This whole time!”

“It was almost a thousand years ago, Helena! You don’t even remember his name!” A raspy voice responded petulantly.

“His name was _Henry!”_ A snarl broke through the sound of the rain, and this time a crack of lightning lanced through the air so close to the tower that Pomfrey shielded herself in case it exploded. “His hair was gold and smelled like hay, and he was a _good_ lad!”

“He was Muggle _scum!”_

A roar like a bonfire crackled through the air and the world began to thrum like a plucked string, tripping up Pomfrey as she reached the door of the tower, but she began ascend the stairs anyway. First on her feet, then on hands and knees as the ground shook and she began to fear falling.

_“You take that back!”_

The tower shuddered as another spell hit it.

“You always had to have whatever you wanted, you little spoiled brat!”

Small bits of mortar rained down on Pomfrey as she continued her climb. A fist-sized chunk of rock landed near her hand, and she pulled her wand from her robes and muttered a Shield Charm. This was going to be dangerous enough without worrying about a concussion.

“Are you _joking?_ You _murdered_ me because you couldn’t have me!”

“I _said_ I was sorry!”

“Oh good grief,” Pomfrey snorted as she continued climbing.

The tower shook again and rubble bounced off the magical bubble surrounding her, but it held strong.

Pomfrey swore as pebbles trickled down the stairs. This tower had stood for a thousand years; she wasn’t going to let a squabble between two pompous ghosts wreck it.

“I will _ruin_ you!” the Grey Lady shrieked.

“I hate to point this out, darling, but we’ve been out of the social loop for quite some time. I doubt you could ruin anything.”

 _He’s toying with her._ Pomfrey had a sinking feeling in her gut as she grew nearer to her destination.

There was a roar of anger and a flash of light, followed by a wail.

Pomfrey pushed herself to her feet and stumbled forward, onto the top of the Astronomy tower.Whatever the Bloody Baron had planned was not going to happen. 

The Bloody Baron was clutching his chest, a black stain slowly spreading from under his fingers, his body sprawled and rubble sticking through his ghostly form. He pushed himself upright and snarled at the Grey Lady, whose face was contorted in rage. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

“I’m ridding the world of you, once and for all!” The Grey Lady growled. “I should have done this years ago!”

“You don’t have the guts!” The Baron scoffed at her before throwing up a shield strong enough for her next hex to ricochet off, toppling a section of parapet.

“Then what’s that hole in your chest? New fashion statement?”

“Stop this! Both of you!” Pomfrey staggered out onto the roof, the wind whipping her clothing and ghost rain blurring her vision. “This is insane!”

“This has to be done, Poppy,” the Grey Lady said without taking her eyes off the Bloody Baron. “I’m not putting up with him for one moment longer!”

The Bloody Baron snorted. “You’ve put up with me for a thousand years. Why stop now?”

“Because you killed Henry, _that’s_ why!” The Grey Lady hurled another hex at him that caused his shields to buckle and drove him back down.

He laughed at her. “You didn’t care this much when I killed _you!_ You’re _sick,_ Helena!”

She swung her wand in an arc, creating another black slash across his chest that made him gasp. “There’s nothing wrong with me!”

“You’re nothing more than a Muggle-loving gutter-whore!” He bit back at her. “I was ordered to bring you back, and I was told I could possess you, but mate with you? After rutting with that _thing?”_ He spat the words out as if the idea completely disgusted him. “I’d rather bugger a duck!”

She gave him a cold look and whipped her wand at him. Instantly he was transformed into a duck. He was yanked into the air by his throat and he quacked hysterically as his feathers began to be plucked from his body by invisible fingers.

Her face grew calm and she turned to Pomfrey. “Oh, don’t worry, dear. I can take care of him. You can go back to the castle.”

“Call off the duel, Helena! You’re destroying the tower!”

The duck was released and it quacked in annoyance as it waddled over to its fallen wand.

It pecked at it and the Bloody Baron reappeared, giving Pomfrey an irritated look. “You’re more worried about the tower than me!”

“You’re right!” Pomfrey scowled at him. “You’ve got no one but yourself to blame for this!”

“She’s going to banish me to the void, Poppy,” the Baron said pleadingly.

“Well then you shouldn’t have been bothering one of the best duellists in recorded history, should you?” Poppy scolded him as if he were an unruly first year.

“It’s within my rights to do this!” Helena reminded Poppy. “He killed me. I have the right to a duel!”

“They usually happen within the year, not the millennia,” Poppy shot back. “And this isn’t about you, and you know it.”

“He was a Muggle, so he couldn’t even be a ghost!” Helena choked out. “He would have stayed with me if he could!”

“I know he would have!” Poppy agreed. “He must have been an exceptional young man.”

Helena turned back to the Bloody Baron and casually gave him another slash of her wand. A black wound opened across one cheek before she turned back to the school nurse. “He taught me to ride horses, like the Muggles do. Such gentle beasts. Apples and carrots and you have their love and loyalty.”

The Bloody Baron snorted. He opened his mouth to say something snide about horses, Pomfrey was sure of that, when the Grey Lady jabbed her wand at him and he caught fire. He screamed and the air vibrated around the tower. Pomfrey heard rock crumbling.

“The tower, Helena! It shouldn’t be able to budge! Look at what you’re doing to it! Let him go. Let McGonagall banish him to somewhere terrible!”

This was the wrong thing to say.

“Why let her do it, when I can have the satisfaction of doing it myself?” the Grey Lady asked coldly. The magical flames were extinguished and wispy dark tendrils, blacker than black, slivers of another dimension, absent of anything but darkness and decay, leaked from his wounds.

“Do you know what it would take to build another tower?” Pomfrey tried to bring her around to the tower again.

“I have a trove of historical trinkets in my bedroom. I can have one auctioned off and it will provide enough gold to build three towers.” She whipped her wand behind her and the Baron was pinned to rubble, smoke from the void seeping through his figure.

“Then be done with it, and stop this! The children are watching!

The Grey Lady’s eyes shot to the area between the tower and the castle. A large group of students were gathering, much to the dismay of Lucy Weasley, who was failing to herd them back into the castle.

“Then let them know what it is to cross a witch.”

The Baron was lifted into the air and his skin puckered, as if it were being pinched with hundreds of fingers. He screamed as he jerked suddenly and was pulled to bits. There was a flash of infinite darkness, and then nothing.

The tower settled. The clouds stopped swirling overhead. The phantom rain lifted and the students below marveled at their dry skin. The Grey Lady looked very tired.

“They’re going to punish you for this,” Pomfrey said slowly. “Even if you pay for the damages.”

“I know,” the Grey lady lsaid sadly.

“Where did you even learn spells like that?” Pomfrey asked, her voice full of awe. 

“The dungeons weren’t for decoration, Poppy,” the ghost said wearily. 

“But they’re so… vast!” Pomfrey gasped in surprise.

“The dark ages were perilous times and we had our share of raiders and pillagers, long before the castle was hidden away properly. It was a golden age of blood magic. With frequent use it corrupts your soul. It changes your perceptions of right and wrong. Foul stuff.”

Pomfrey shuddered. There was so little they knew about the Founders’ Era of Hogwarts, even though there were survivors living in the castle. Perhaps some things were best left forgotten. She looked over the edge of the tower to see McGonagall rushing towards the tower with a small crowd of adults.

“They’re already coming,” she warned the Grey Lady.

“Just do me a favor,” the Grey Lady said as she stood straight and began to glow softly. “Don’t let them forget Henry.”

“Not again,” Pomfrey assured her.

The ghost smiled briefly before starting to fade from view. “You’re a good friend, Poppy.”

“They’re gone,” Pomfrey croaked out through her tears as she reached the bottom floor of the tower and began making her way back to the castle. “Helena’s death has finally been avenged and the Baron has left us.”

McGonagall drew up short. “What do you mean?”

“He’s been cast into the void and she’s gone to grieve. I don’t know when we’ll see her again.”

McGonagall nodded grimly. “We’ll have to find a replacement for the Slytherin ghost. We can be pickier about a Ravenclaw replacement.”

“What about Binns?” Flitwick offered. “He was a Slytherin.”

“That’s an excellent idea,” McGonagall agreed. “It’s a good excuse to finally pry him from his classroom.”

“But… what about all this?” Professor Longbottom blustered, looking at the wreckage.

“It can be fixed,” Pomfrey assured him, hoping it was true. “It’s mostly cosmetic damage, I assure you…”

By the time they reached the castle, the Ministry official and Agent Bickers were waiting for her.

“There was a change in the patients,” the wizard from the ministry said grimly.

“Which ones?” Pomfrey asked curiously.

“All of them!” The Ministry wizard said.

“What happened?” Pomfrey asked, afraid of the answer.

“The healing has reversed itself, and in some cases the damage was more advanced when it returned.”

“Timothy Creevy?” Pomfrey asked, her face turning white.

“The Muggle that received his spell damage died, and the symptoms with him. Timothy is fine,” Bickers assured her.

“But the others?” Pomfrey asked, afraid of the answer.

“Let’s just say Mr Lockhart’s book tour has been permanently cancelled,” the Ministry wizard said a little too happily.

“Makes me glad we didn’t get to the more advanced cases,” Pomfrey admitted. “The results would have been tragic.”

“What do you mean?” Agent Bickers asked.

“We should discuss this privately,” Pomfrey said seriously, as she looked around at the gathering students.

“I agree,” McGonagall said loudly. “Students! To your common rooms!”

There were grumbles and groans, but the students dissipated, the witnesses retelling what they saw in awed and hushed voices.

When they got back to McGonagall’s office Pomfrey told them all that had happened, including the story about Henry and why the hexes had lifted when the Bloody Baron was destroyed.

“Where is this cursed book now?” Agent Bickers asked.

“In my office,” Pomfrey said wearily. “I’m not sure what to do with it now. The spells in it may be completely useless. It may have all been the hex.”

“We need to study them more closely,” Agent Bickers said sternly. “They may still be useful.”

“Do you have any idea where Helena Ravenclaw’s rooms are hidden?” the Ministry wizard asked her curiously.

“No,” Pomfrey admitted. “But it must not be completely sealed, otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to get the book out.”

“Interesting,” the official muttered.

“You said it was from the restricted section!” McGonagall said indignantly.

“Erm… well, in a way, her room is _a_ restricted section.” Pomfrey winced.

McGonagall fixed her with a withering look that she usually reserved for students. “Really, Poppy.”

Pomfrey turned red. “Well, I didn’t know how dangerous it was! Even Helena had no idea! I’m sure the Bloody Baron had forgotten all about it.”

The Ministry officials grumbled, but agreed it was nothing anyone could have foreseen. They had been part of the experiments and they hadn’t come up with any warning signs, either.

When all was said and done, Pomfrey was happy return to her quarters alone for some peace and quiet.

She narrowly escaped Peeves, who had starting singing about the event almost immediately and was haunting the suits of armor so they could sing in faux-harmony. Thankfully, she could hear him a mile away and it allowed her to give him a wide berth.

When she reached her quarters, she slipped inside with a sigh of relief. Her eyes fell on the book. The Ministry wanted to see it, of course, but for now it was still hers. She went to it and leafed through the pages, trying to find any signs of the hex, then examining the recipes more closely than she originally had.

The spells looked sound. They should have still healed people. Pomfrey frowned at the pages. Were the spells themselves hexed, much like Voldemort’s name had been? Perhaps the Ministry would have more insight.

She closed the book and went to put it back on the table when her eyes fell on something else. Another book, just as old, with a film of dust suspended over it.

Pomfrey stared at it for a moment, as if this would help her discover what was hidden within its pages. Then she flipped it open.

**1001 Uses for Human Flesh**

Well, Helena did say it was a golden age for blood magic, and books like this were priceless artifacts, in spite of their subject matter. The auction would be able to pay for the repairs to the tower several times over, just as Helena had said.

Poppy flipped a page and her eyes skimmed over an enchantment for broomless flight. She shuddered and closed it again, looking at it warily.

She should get rid of it immediately. Hand it over to the Ministry or call a collection house. Borgin and Burkes, if need be.

But she paused.

If she handed it over, it would be either hidden away or destroyed. It was a pity, really. All those lives lost and nothing to show for it.

She made a decision and closed the book, gathering it to her chest. First, she’d see the extent of the damage to the tower, then she’d decide what to do with it.

It would be a shame to have something like this in her possession without studying it a bit. before handing it off.

She’d turn it in. Eventually.

 

(Please return to [livejournal](http://hp-darkarts.livejournal.com/80888.html) to leave a comment or leave one in both places)


End file.
